


This Is Why I Hate Myself

by howyousay_anarchy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blowjobs, Boys Being Idiots, Harry is a vague cockslut, Ice cream is not lube, Idiots in Love, M/M, PWP, but only vaguely, sorry about this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2019-02-22 18:25:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13172646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/howyousay_anarchy/pseuds/howyousay_anarchy
Summary: Practically indecent ice cream porn, for your perusal.





	This Is Why I Hate Myself

**Author's Note:**

> Right, so. A friend of mine dared me to write smut prompted by the hashtag #IlovemyDQ, and my idiotic brain decided to drag feelings into it. Um, enjoy?

**#ILoveMyDQ**

 

Harry had long wanted to introduce Malfoy to the wonders of the muggle world.

 

After being (endearingly) wide-eyed at almost everything Harry introduced him to apart from Pepsi (which Draco chugs almost compulsively now everyday), Harry decided it was a worthy endeavor to finally introduce Draco to the wonders of ice cream.

 

The wizards had it too, of course, Fortescue's was nothing less of a wonder with its new and innovating magical flavors, but it was just not quite the same as a good blizzard or even a dilly pie.

 

So, with fervor, Harry Potter dragged Draco Malfoy to Dairy Queen on a hot Thursday, and they are now back home, each holding a blizzard in their hands topped with excessive whipped cream and sprinkles from their own kitchen.

 

Malfoy has an oreo blizzard, for the man is a glutton for chocolate and ever self-destructing on his quest for better sweets, while Harry has chocolate caramel, his favorite flavor.

 

However, it's bothering Harry that Draco’s neck tenses and relaxes with every bite of ice cream, and that he cranes it a bit to catch the oreos of the blizzard, remaining so tantalizingly at the corner of his lips—

 

It’s also bothering him that Malfoy is nearing blowing the spoon wrapped inside his lips, which is unfair and so fucking hot and amazing and Harry can fucking see the drop of white cream on the surface of the spoon until Draco licks it, chasing it up and down with the corners of his tongue, lapping at it until it disappears nearly entirely and then humming contentedly with his eyes closed and throat tilted back, the spoon nestled inside his throat, and—

 

It’s too late anyway. It’s bothering Harry so much already that his pants are annoyingly tight and that despite the ice cream, he’s sweating.

 

 _Ok_ , Harry thinks, and readies himself a bit. Then he stuffs another bite of cream into his mouth before shoving at Draco, who's still licking primly at his spoon and in the middle of going back to his blizzard.

 

“Oy Malfoy, let me lick your cock,” he says.

 

Dirty talk, nailed it. 69/10.

 

“How romantic,” Malfoy doesn’t even move his head, the bugger. “Any more propositions you got for me, or was that just a one-hit wonder?”

 

“Let me blow you, come on,” Harry urges again, and moves closer to Malfoy, touching the hotness of his palm to Draco’s zipper and dropping down onto the floor.

 

Malfoy flutters his eyelashes, “You do know how to flatter a guy, Potter.” But without any hesitation, he spreads his legs as far as they would reach and dons a self-satisfied smirk as Harry huffs into the inseam of his pants and slaps him on the insides of his thigh.

 

The ice cream is melting in Harry’s mouth, but he has an idea of what to do. Payback is a bitch, and perhaps it’s about time karma got to Malfoy, too.

 

He shucks Malfoy naked, making him devoid of any clothes from the waist down.

 

Then, he touches his entire mouth to Malfoy’s semi-hard dick, encloses, swallows, and lets the cool of the ice cream still inside his mouth drip down.

 

Malfoy gasps and shivers. Harry feels vaguely proud of himself when Draco regained some control and asked, “What the bloody hell are you doing?” before sinking into another euphoric shudder as Harry licks up his length, lapping at the ice cream traveling along the veins of his pretty cock.

 

(Draco Malfoy has a very pretty dick, Harry thinks he ought to make that very clear. It’s long and thin, like the rest of him, and when it’s hard like now, it’s flushed pink and a bit red. A bit like a sunset. A bit more like a sunrise.)

 

The ice cream still has bits of caramel left in it, sweet and tangy at the same time. But now it tastes like Malfoy as well, like salt and some stupid French aftershave. Harry licks it all into his mouth, looks up at Draco through his eyelashes, and swallows.

 

He’s never considered how gone he would be for dick, or for sucking dick, or (dare he say it) for sucking Draco Malfoy’s dick. There’s something mad but absolutely brilliant about the way Malfoy clenches his nails into Harry’s hair (the same hair he complains about almost daily) and pulls, fucking Harry’s mouth as he does so. There’s something wonderful about the way he gasps nonsensical words into Harry’s ear when he’s about to come, spasms overriding the neat hair and the careful eyes. There’s something lovely about the way he shudders with his entire body when he comes, silently as he’s gotten used to doing.

 

Thinking about Malfoy all loose and jerking is making Harry’s cock do distracting things standing up from his body. He can taste the ice cream on his lips, and a vision of him doing this exact thing to Draco in the bathroom stall of the Dairy Queen overwhelms him and he almost crashes before moaning into Malfoy’s dick, the vibrations nearly making him gag on the fullness of it.

 

And god, he wants it, wants to be choke-full of Malfoy and his terribly attractive cock and days like today with laughter and ice cream, so he just sort of runs with it and takes Malfoy in even deeper, breathing in through his nose and spreading his fingers around Malfoy’s lovely legs.

 

Malfoy doesn’t beg, because Malfoys don’t beg, but Harry can tell he’s so close to begging for it. So Harry spoons up a dollop of ice cream, and drops it almost suddenly onto the head of Malfoy’s cock, where precome is beginning to leak out, wet and tantalizing.

 

Malfoy suddenly hisses at the cold and after some wiggling he’s still again, just as composed as when his pants were not off at all. Harry is not satisfied at all at the silence. He tongues at the precome, smearing it down with the flat of his tongue until he tastes ice cream and precome and the musky scent of Malfoy’s balls all at once. He tries his best to gather one of them all the way into his mouth with success to some degree.

 

Malfoy’s breaths are labored, now, mouth open and neck exposed like another offer of dessert, and Harry feels sincerely sorry that his mouth his full of other things to take care of.

 

He massages Draco’s balls even more as his mouth takes the task of trailing kisses up and down the ice cream covered cock. It’s dripping even more now as sweat and sweet mixes together, so Harry thinks fuck it and takes his hand, gets some of the liquid, and stretches a finger into Malfoy’s asshole.

 

If he’s more gentle than that, he think he might physically fall apart and end up with his dick inside Malfoy, which would be, for sure, a wonderful way to die.

 

“Hurry up, will you?” Malfoy prompts while Harry pontificates his deathly fantasies. “I'd love it if you can get a cock in me before sundown.”

 

“And I'd love it if I can fuck you in my grave, but that's worrying,” says Harry, because his brain-to-mouth filter basically disappears when his mouth is occupied with other things such as biting Malfoy’s clavicle until he sees a rosy red mark.

 

Malfoy gasps underneath him, and Harry can feel his movements beneath his mouth. “What the bloody fuck are you on about?” When Harry stops working his fingers into his ass, however, he adds a quiet and affronted little: “don't stop.”

 

“I, would quite like to fuck you forever,” says Harry, earning a surprised moan from Malfoy. “Thus the in my grave thing.”

 

“With the bloody muggle ice cream as lube, too, then?” Malfoy gasps out, his head turning as he twists. “In your—fucking oh Merlin—grave?”

 

Harry thinks Malfoy looks beautiful, even when he gives him a disdainful look in the midst of all the writhing and screaming.

 

“Yeah,” so Harry says, “If you'd have me.” Just as an incentive, he prods his fingers into Malfoy’s prostate and wonders if he can come untouched today. Malfoy usually could, because the bastard is sensitive as hell and lives to make Harry suffer.

 

“If I could have you harder, please?” Malfoy squeezes down on Harry’s fingers, tightening until Harry thinks that he will actually go insane and abort the whole prepping for sex thing. He reaches his fingers toward the spot that usually makes Malfoy go wild, and—

 

“Yeah, there,” goes Malfoy, “Right—” he keens, then, and his sentence is stopped, but Harry knows what he means, so it doesn't really matter in the grand scheme of things.

 

“Can I—” Harry also seems to have lost his words, however. “Dick, into you, now? Please?” He twists his fingers to emphasize his points, and Malfoy pants out an agreeing sound, looking starved.

 

Harry gets a dick into him.

 

It's fast because Harry doesn't think he'll last with Malfoy murdering him slowly, but they'll have plenty of time for that later. Because there will be a later. Because they could have their forever with the bloody muggle ice cream as lube and Harry will be fucking Malfoy in his grave, or something equally preposterous.  

 

It's unromantic, too, because Harry thinks it's been the way they've always had sex: hot and fleeting and always over before his mouth could catch up and tell Malfoy something like “if you'd have me, I would love you forever.”

 

So he fucks Malfoy quietly and aggressively, hoping his dick would convey what he couldn't. Malfoy shudders, all lovely and loose lines underneath him, and clutches at the backs of his arms, nails scraping everywhere. In between the rawness of it all, Harry is so fucking ready to explode.

 

It feels somehow expanded, like Malfoy is actually everywhere around him. Harry gives himself up to the tight, slick warmth that is Malfoy and focuses on angling at Malfoy’s prostate and drawing it out and he hears Malfoy’s hisses.

 

“Music to my ears,” he grunts into Malfoy's hair.

 

“Fuck you,” Malfoy replies succinctly, exertion seeping into his pale complexion and making him flushed with his hair sticking up on his forehead.

 

He whimpers every time Harry hits his prostate with each hurried thrust, and Harry is just about ready to die, or come, or whatever. He actually doesn't even care anymore. Draco is sopping wet and he just wants to bury himself in and just...keep. Plus, with Malfoy’s hips angling forward to meet Harry, Harry knows that the busting of the nuts are going to be pretty soon on this one, but just not yet. He cradles Malfoy in his arms and draws into him, just a little bit, with every thrust. He fucks deep into Malfoy, and it's good. It's so good, but he'll last for Malfoy, who he can make happy, for Merlin’s sake.

 

But then Draco arches off the bed like an angel in flight, calling Harry’s name and making those delicious sounds, so Harry is basically shocked into his orgasm, every cell in his body electrified into satisfaction. It makes sense, too, because when it pertains to Malfoy, everything goes just a little off his tracks of plan and onto something else wonderful.

 

“Oh,” Harry says afterwards, when Malfoy, spoiled, stretches contently into his grasp and cuddles him, for lack of a better word. There’s nothing else to say, after all, because they’re not that kind of couple, but…

 

“I would not be averse to going to that ridiculous ice cream shop of yours again,” Draco declares sleepily into his hair. “It was...overall quite pleasant. Would fuck again.”

 

Harry smiles down into Malfoy’s bare chest, before realizing how ridiculous and silent he’s being.

 

“Ok,” he says instead at their sheets, letting Malfoy’s draped form provide him a solid sort of comfort. “Remind me to show you some other flavors next time.”

 

Malfoy doesn’t respond apart from a bare hum, but Harry feels his fingers as they lace through his hair, lazily pulling and then going slack. He smiles, and sleeps, with Malfoy curled around him, dreaming about blonde hair and ice cream.

 


End file.
